High Impact Vessel
by ficdirectory
Summary: AU. Reid is diagnosed with HIV. Allusions through 7x12.
1. Masquerade

This is the thing about HIV. It's not a death-sentence. Not anymore. Nevertheless, speaking the acronym aloud has the potential to strike fear in people. Therefore, Reid doesn't speak it at all. For a while, it wasn't a lie. He really didn't know what was causing the headaches so intense he wished for unconsciousness. For the flu-like symptoms that would not go away, no matter what homeopathic remedy he tried. No matter how much heat he applied to his stiff muscles - and ice to his aching ones - it made no difference.

After he went for the MRI in mid-January last year and was pronounced physically healthy but left to consider a psychosomatic cause. True, he had not been altogether truthful about the entirety of his symptoms, but the headaches were the most pressing. If he could get answers for the headaches, then maybe, the rest would fall into place.

It was only after speaking with Emily early in March that he felt compelled to do more. To go in for more comprehensive testing. By mid-March, Emily was gone, and so, too, it seemed, was his life.

The test results came back showing what he never suspected. He was HIV-positive. He wracked his brain and tried to think. This had to be a mistake. He'd never slept with anyone. Never had a blood transfusion. The only thing that came to mind as a remote possibility was his drug use. He knew it sounded ridiculous, but he had been exceedingly careful. His thoughts raced along with his crazed heartbeat until the realization slammed into him.

Dr. Barton.

Three weeks into September 2009, Reid was shot by a grieving man, who had been aiming for the doctor. Unfortunately, this man wouldn't lower his weapon, and instead, had raised it again, as if to fire. Reid had to shoot first. The man, Meyers, had an abdominal wound, and Reid had sent the doctor to tend to it. When the EMTs arrived, Dr. Barton returned to Reid and probed his own through-and-through gunshot wound with bloody hands.

Reid felt lightheaded. If his team found out, he would lose his job. He felt sure of this, even as his rational mind told him that would be discriminatory and not allowed. Still, instead of telling them, he carried on as usual. He grieved over Emily's death - not able to believe that she was truly gone for months. He spent time at the firing range. He separated himself and made sure everyone was of the mind that it was due to Emily's loss and not any other cause.

He knew if Garcia wanted, she could get into his records, and see the medications he was currently taking. She could then deduce, or research what they were for, and then everyone would know.

It's not that he's ashamed. He isn't. However, as long as he keeps this knowledge to himself, he doesn't have to consider its depth. He doesn't have to consider how knowing it will undoubtedly have a similar effect on all those he tells. Reid wants nothing more than to spare them the sensation that everything they knew for certain was being sucked down an interminable vortex.

It isn't long, though, before he begins to doubt his decision to hold back this information. He dreams of past mistakes - moments in the field where carelessness resulted in a bleeding wound - like prior to his exposure to anthrax. Strauss is indisposed herself now, in treatment for alcoholism, so Reid steels himself. He will have to tell Hotch. He cannot risk the safety of his team.

And then he wonders, how he could have been so selfish.

They have just thrown him a birthday party. Though he is not usually fond of people in his physical space, Reid finds himself striving to commit to memory this feeling of his friends' willingness to touch him without fear or reservation. They will still touch him, but soon, they'll think twice. It's enough to pull him down even further, despite the successes earlier in the day.

He has just contributed to the arrest of not one, but two unsubs. Two young men with superior IQs like his own. He started opening up to Emily a little bit during that case. Admitting he was not sure why he was in the FBI and whether or not he could have done more with his life by now. How he'd thought, at one time, that by 30, he would have discovered the cure for schizophrenia. He hadn't. He could not cure his mother and he could not cure himself. Still, Emily's presence means something. Her reverse-psychology means something. It gives him the courage to do what he knows he must do.

It's late when they are finished celebrating, and Reid follows Hotch back to his office. "Can I speak with you for a moment?" he asks, clearing his throat.

"Of course," Hotch says, sitting down behind his desk. "What is it?"

Reid thinks about the best way to go about this. Then, he realizes, there is no best way. Better to just come out with it. Still, he finds, he cannot be that direct. "I haven't been feeling the best," he begins, clearing his own throat, nervously.

Hotch stares at him an extra beat, and Reid knows he is thinking of his substance abuse history. He is wondering how they will function with both their Unit Chief and their geographical profile expert sidelined due to addiction.

"It's not what you're thinking…" he hedges, knowing he had better just come out with it. "I was diagnosed with something…and I think it's best I told you. I should have told you a long time ago."

Hotch is silent, waiting.

"I'm HIV-positive, Hotch." he says quietly, not looking him in the eye.

"I'm sorry?" Hotch asks. A question, not a statement of pity. Reid can breathe again.

"Last year, in March, after I spoke with Emily about these persistent headaches I'd been experiencing, I decided to get more comprehensive testing done. I'd had an MRI done last January but that didn't show any abnormalities. The headaches didn't go away, though and I started showing other symptoms…"

"You've known for quite a while," Hotch observes.

"Ten months. The incubation period was about sixteen months," Reid adds unnecessarily.

"Excuse me?" Hotch questions.

"The timeline shows it's not related to my drug use." There is silence and Reid rushes to fill it. "I was exposed on a case, around the same time Foyet broke into your house…and stabbed you…" Reid trails off. He is used to reciting facts and events without letting them affect him, but now, it seems that everything has an impact.

"How you were exposed isn't relevant," Hotch says quietly.

Reid nods. Swallows once. Twice.

"Is there something else?" Hotch asks, his eyes concerned. "Do you need to take some time?"

"No! No… I need exactly the opposite of that, and if I could keep my position I'd be exceedingly grateful…" Reid tries not to make it seem as if he is begging.

"I'm not firing you. It isn't legal, and even if it were, it would be an incredibly ignorant decision on my part," Hotch maintains, his voice calm. "Forgive me, but is there some reason you wanted me to know? You weren't receiving any kind of pressure, were you? Your medical care is your business."

"No, it was my choice. I just…I hated feeling as if I was putting the team at risk on the field. There were times in the past where I'd been hasty and gotten injured - not post-diagnosis - but just the thought of that… I didn't want you being at risk and not being aware of it."

"Well, thank you for telling me," Hotch says. He seems sincere. "If you want to tell the rest of the team…and if you want me there…I'll be there."

Reid nods.

One down. Five to go.

Over the next few days, Reid gets them done. First, Morgan, who asks what he can do, and if Reid needs anything. Then, Rossi, who listens quietly and promises to be here through whatever comes, but adds that this diagnosis isn't the death sentence it once was. Reid knows this, but it's nice to hear.

Garcia's eyes fill with tears. "I knew something was wrong," she said. "I knew it was more than your turning 30. More than grief. More than feeling unfulfilled…" He sits and lets her cry, feeling strange that he should be comforting someone when he's the one who is sick. It is strangely satisfying, though, because the last thing Reid wants is to be treated as someone who is ill. He holds Garcia's hand and shares Rossi's words with her. They only make her cry harder.

Then, Emily. She simply says, "Okay," as if she is waiting for the rest of the sentence. As if she is waiting for Reid to get to the point. When he tells her that's it, she says okay, and then asks if she can have some of the gourmet jellybeans from the stash he keeps in his desk. He gives her the bag. His mouth is full of sores, and the sharp edges of the candy and the sugar bother him.

Finally, he brings himself to call JJ. To ask if he can stop by. He wants to tell her on the phone - doesn't want to see the look on her face when the truth of what he is saying registers - but he knows he owes it to her. It's 10 PM. Will and Henry are sleeping, so Reid and JJ sit on the couch in comfortable silence that comes with being friends for a long time. From trusting each other, losing that trust, and gaining it back again, one day at a time.

"Has anyone said anything to you?" he asks.

"About?" she asks. JJ is sipping English breakfast tea with sugar and vanilla despite the hour. She offered him some, but Reid has declined. He drinks water and hopes for courage.

"JJ…I'm sick…" he says slowly.

"Yeah?" she asks, and like a true mother, she feels his forehead with the back of her hand. "You don't feel warm. Wait." She takes her hand away and puts it to her own forehead and then back to his. Then back to hers again. "I'm holding tea, so I'm probably not the best judge of this…" She laughs and the sound breaks his heart. How is he supposed to tell his best friend this?

"Not that kind of sick…" he says finally, catching her hand in his own.

She is quiet now, waiting. Somehow, she knows to put her tea down. Somehow, she knows this is big.

"I have HIV," he says, blunt now, when he doesn't want to be.

Her eyes have the world in them - somehow a deeper blue in the wake of so much sadness - but she doesn't cry as Garcia did. She does not give him the gift of hope that Rossi did or support like Morgan or steadfastness like Hotch. She does not treat him exactly the same as Emily has. JJ does something no one else has.

She doesn't speak. She just leans forward and puts her arms around him. They sit like this for several minutes. He closes his eyes. How is it that she knows, and gave him exactly what he has been afraid all along to lose?

"I'm going to be okay," he says. "It'll just be a little harder now."

A small lie is still a lie.

That realization leaves him wondering how he could have been so cold to JJ after finding out her secret. Now that he understands the circumstances that warrant keeping one, he can understand how she kept Emily's survival a secret. It still hurts, but not nearly as much. In fact, he may have subconsciously suspected as much, and instead, Emily's physical loss became a catalyst for him to grieve this change in his own health.

It's comforting to have such thoughts in the arms of a friend. It's comforting to be in the arms of a friend, period.

He had been frightened beyond words of being reduced by these string of words - this acronym - this virus. Instead, though, he has realized that it's his own perception that needs altering. He is not a virus or a sick or dying person. He is Doctor Spencer Reid, newly 30. He has not had the impact he dreamed to have by this point in his life, but he has had an impact nonetheless. He vows to live with integrity. Because he is nowhere near done.

He has many good years left. As many or more than he might have had if he continued down the road of addiction, or received the diagnosis of the mental illness that he feared.

This diagnosis is not a gift, but his life is.


	2. Lacerations

This is the thing about HIV: you don't want it. It may not be the death sentence it once was, but it still has the potential to leave Reid feeling absolutely miserable. If not the virus, then the side-effects of the medication that is supposed to slow the progression down. Some days, it hurts to walk. Some days, he physically cannot get out of bed, and he thanks whatever higher power is out there that he has stockpiled vacation days for years. Some days, it's the most innocuous thing he does that ends up putting his team in jeopardy.

Today, for example, has been a good one so far. He's gotten this wonderfully funny video from JJ of Henry's latest milestone. He sings and dances to a popular children's song and the sight lifts Reid's spirits. It's nice to have a break. The day has been terribly boring, and in retrospect, that should have tipped him off that something bigger was coming.

He's behind a desk - by his own request - helping Garcia with anything he can. His health is unpredictable. Sometimes, he feels well enough to join them in the field, but most of the time, Reid chooses to stay back. To be of use in some way will put his team at less risk, if something should happen.

This, at least, is Reid's theory until he slips on a file that has fallen to the floor and reaches out to catch himself on the sharp edge of Garcia's metal cabinet drawers. He jerks his hand away grabs the napkin that previously held Garcia's doughnut of choice. He wraps it tightly around his hand.

"Hey, you okay?" Garcia asks, turning, but Reid backs away from her, trying to stay calm.

"I'm fine," he reassures. But he isn't fine. There are people everywhere. This is the first time something like this has happened since his diagnosis. It is more terrifying than the idea of dying at sixty from pneumonia or a virulent strain of flu.

"We're on our way out," Hotch says, scaring all reason out of Reid when he approaches from behind. "What happened?" he asks.

"Gloves, Hotch." It's all Reid can manage. Unfortunately a hand injury is one Reid will not be able to remedy alone.

Reid's eyebrows raise, impressed, in spite of his own fear, as Hotch pulls a pair of latex gloves and two plastic Ziploc bags from his pocket. He wonders, for a split-second, if the rest of the team is like Hotch. Do they all have gloves and Ziplocs on hand for emergencies like this?

"Come with me," he says calmly and leads Reid to the men's room. Reid washes the cut thoroughly but it's deep, and L-shaped. There is a flap of skin that can be lifted and seen underneath like a human body exhibit at the Science Museum. It would be fascinating if it were not so terrifying.

Reid tries to staunch the blood, but it refuses to be stopped.

"Here. It's okay," Hotch reassures and efficiently bandages Reid's injury with gauze and plenty of medical tape. Reid takes out a latex glove of his own, and wears it over the injured hand, just to make absolutely certain that Garcia is safe working with him today.

When Hotch is finished, he carefully double-bags the napkin, wrapper from the gauze and his own gloves. Then he pulls out a third bag - something Reid himself would have done, especially at work - and disposes of everything in the dumpster behind the offices.

Reid exhales sharply and then returns to Garcia's office to ensure that she hasn't touched anything, in case he bled anywhere else. He finds her focused intently on the computer screens in front of her, and breathes a sigh of relief.

"I'm sorry about this…" he apologizes, after Hotch is on the jet to Houston with the rest of the team. "I should really learn to walk…" He goes to his desk for his own bleach-based cleaning supplies and does a thorough job cleaning up, though he wonders, as always, if it is thorough enough.

"No problem," she answers, but there is a catch in her voice.

She is making an effort not to look at him, and for a moment, Reid's heart is in his throat. If Garcia starts shunning him, things at work will go from passable to beyond awkward. She seems to feel gaze and turns to look at him. He registers that her skin has a strange pallor. She seems green.

"Oh, honey, trust me. It's not you. It's me. I can't stand the sight of blood. Not just yours. Mine, too. I sliced my heel open on something in here a couple years ago and JJ fixed me up, but I was all squeamish the whole night afterward." She inexplicably takes a bite of her chocolate glazed Krispy Kreme and then offers it to Reid when he is done double-bagging and taking off the extra glove he wore over his original.

"That's all right. Thank you, though, for offering," he says.

That day, he is distracted. He cannot stop thinking of his hand. Of the blood. Of Hotch and Garcia and the rest of his friends, who have treated him so well despite the fact that he kept this terrible secret from them for more than a year. When Hotch video conferences in to ask them to check Houston employment records, Reid waits for the inevitable question. He waits to be asked if he is okay. However, no such question is asked. Only, how fast can they get the information.

It sets Reid's mind at ease.

The same can be said, days later, when JJ gives him a call to let him know that she is feeling a little under the weather. She has started doing this, and the others have followed her lead. They know the nature of Reid's illness and they are not taking any chances. Due to the necessity of the team and their job, it's not possible for them to take sick days for a cold or slight fever. Nevertheless, they let Reid know about their own maladies, no matter how slight, because of the state of his immune system. If one of them isn't feeling the best, Reid often video-chats in, like Garcia, since she set him up with a camera and some kind of account. He likes working from home. He likes staying in his pajamas and taking it easy, but it can get lonely.

JJ stops by most often, but as she isn't feeling good, Reid mentally crosses her name of the list of potential visitors. Everyone else, though they claim to feel fine, have been exposed to whatever JJ has, so it's unwise to be around them. They find ways to stay connected but it is not the same as being there.

Reid sends a get well card to JJ, glad to be able to do something for someone else, instead of always being thought of and catered to. He reads a book he's loved since childhood. That takes up most of an hour. Suddenly, Reid hears the strange tone on his computer that means someone is trying to get a hold of him on video.

He rushes out and clicks the 'accept' button, not even checking the who the caller is. It's 9 PM. The Houston case isn't over. Still, Hotch's face appears from his hotel room. It's as if he's here, even though he's not.

"Just checking in," Hotch says. "How are things?"

"You carry Ziploc bags and latex gloves in your pockets?" Reid asks, unable to think of anything else to ask.

"I figured it would make things easier if we were prepared, as well," Hotch says simply.

"Did you have some kind of seminar on me?" Reid asks, irritated.

"No. We didn't have to, Reid. We have common sense. It's not the 1980s anymore. It's not hard to be educated about blood-born pathogens…"

"I guess you're right," Reid admits, regretting his short temper. Hotch will likely forgive him though, especially if he's as versed in HIV medication and side-effects as he is in protecting oneself from infection. "How's it going?" he asks because he can't deny the desire to want to stay involved in every aspect of the case.

"Things are progressing…" Hotch allows. He is clearly hiding something.

"But…" Reid prompts.

"Something seems off with Prentiss, and unfortunately I don't have the time or resources to deal with it right now."

"You're asking me to check in with Prentiss so I'll feel like a part of the team? Or because I have nothing better to do?" Reid snaps, irritable again, for no reason he can put his finger on.

"I'm asking you to check in with Prentiss because she is your teammate and because you can likely identify with what she's going through."

For the first time since Reid has shared his diagnosis, he is speechless. For a while, his team has been careful around him, but this feels good. It feels right to be put in his place and to have his misconceptions corrected.

He unceremoniously disconnects with Hotch and calls Prentiss on her cell phone. If Hotch is in the hotel already, everyone else definitely should be as well.

"Reid? What's up?"

"You tell me," he prompts.

"Hotch talked to you," she sighs, sounding just as irritated as he was earlier.

"No…sometimes, I just these feelings about things and I-"

"You are such a bad liar," she says and he can hear her smiling. A silence falls between them and it is a full minute before Emily fills it. "Do you think doubt is catching?" she asks finally.

"Doubt?"

"Last case you said you didn't know what you were doing in the FBI. Now…I'm not sure I can cope here."

Reid stays silent, waiting.

"There are so many things that get to me now. So many things that make me remember Bethesda…and Paris and Spain… So many things that make me remember the case before that," Emily elaborates quietly. "I can't do my job properly. I look at pictures of these victims…people who have been beaten and stabbed…and I see myself…"

The memory comes, unbidden to Reid's memory. How more than four years ago, this was him. How looking at pictures of victims' bodies in the leaves brought to mind his own torture at the hands of an unsub with multiple personalities. He thinks of his grief and his confusion. He thinks of what he turned to, instead of the people around him, and how much he regretted it. He thought of the words spoken to him on the jet. They were on their way back from somewhere. Reid isn't sure where, but he remembers admitting how strange he felt.

"I felt the same coming back from Atlanta," he admits softly. "I know it's not the same as Witness Protection for seven months…"

"No, it's okay," Emily encourages. "I'd to hear. If you're comfortable sharing, that is."

"I'd see pictures of victims and I would think of myself, about to die. Digging my own grave. I couldn't focus. I was irritable. And I…I wasn't coping… Luckily, I had a friend who talked to me, in spite of all my assurances that I was fine. When I asked what to do, I was told to use what happened to me to make me a better person. What I was feeling was empathy, which, of course, I knew, but didn't know how to deal with. It took a while, but eventually…I started coping. I started truly dealing with what happened to me. It's still difficult at times, but it's all a matter of perspective…" Reid trails off, certain that he is talking too much.

"You had a friend…" Emily muses. "So do I, it seems…"

"Pardon me?"

"You said you had a friend who talked to you about all this?"

"Yes, I did," Reid confirmed, thinking of Morgan.

Another silence falls and finally, Emily breaks it. "Things never quite heal the way we want them to, do they?" she asks solemnly.

"No, they never do," he answers, grateful beyond words for her honesty.


	3. Considerations

This is the thing about HIV that hurts more deeply than anything else does: it is preventable. Reid thinks about this a lot, because if Dr. Barton had just stopped for a second and thought about what he was about to do before coming to Reid's aid, he would not be in this situation right now. However, just as quickly as Reid can place blame on the shoulders of Dr. Barton or Patrick Meyers, the man whose blood was on the doctor's hands…well…Reid can just as quickly blame himself. If he had just taken a moment thought. If he had just stopped the doctor before he insisted on touching Reid's open wound, then he wouldn't be in this situation either.

As easy as it may be to place blame, it is not productive. Reid's life is what it is. Good and bad. Uninformed and educated. Diagnosis and DNA and everything that makes Reid uniquely himself. He doesn't want to stand on a pedestal and tell the people in his life how to live theirs. Therefore, instead, he lets his life speak for itself. He shows up to work. He makes choices based on what is best for everyone involved. He puts his health first. He never stops being there for those who need them.

In the quiet moments, Reid writes. It has taken him a long time to adequately grasp how he might choose to say goodbye to his family and friends, whenever the time might come. To Reid, this isn't morbid, it's simply being prepared for all life's possibilities. As likely as it is that he will live long and prosper, it is also possible that he might not. The same is true for everyone, he is just more aware of it. Therefore, Reid writes letters to his mother, to his father. To Gideon, and of course, to his current team. One, he gives to JJ when she returns, and is healthy again after Houston. He asks her to read it in the event of his passing, at his funeral, so that it's as if he's there. She's not to open the envelope unless and until this comes to pass. He cannot share them all because that would be redundant, but a letter he leaves goes something like this:

_You have touched my life in so many ways - it would be impossible to adequately quantify them all. For the purposes of this letter, I will name just a few. I appreciate your patience and your understanding. Thank you for the friendship, hope and support you have shown me. Thank you seems so small, but it is all I have to give, so please accept this gift of a few words. I know you will do many wonderful things with your life. You have it to live, and you can do whatever you want with it. Go wherever your dreams take you, just don't waste the time you're given. It is such an amazing thing that we don't often pause to consider. Take care, and please keep me in your heart as you embrace your future._

_Love,_

_Spencer_

It hurts to leave behind such tangible proof of his existence, but it feels right, also. Reid finds he likes the feeling of putting his affairs in order. Though he is not dying from HIV, he is _living with _it, it seems logical to do these things while he has the time and the faculties to do them.

When that's complete, he leaves the letters in the bottom drawer of his desk and locks it. He gives JJ the key, and the unenviable task of retrieving the letters someday.

"It better not be anytime soon," she insists, trying to laugh in spite of the serious job she has been given.

"I'm not planning on dying, but as it's definitely in my future, I thought it best to be prepared," he says serious.

"Of course you did," JJ nods, the smile on her face suddenly forced. "I hope to God I never have to use this," she says, tucking the key into her pocket.

This is exactly why Reid loves his friends. Because he can count on them to do the things that he needs to have done. The things he cannot entrust to anyone else. He also loves that they embrace him and treat him, largely, the same as they did pre-diagnosis. The only difference is that they are more aware of the impact of their health on his own.

After the Houston case, they all get together. Rossi cooks and does his best to cater to Reid's shrinking appetite. The result is nothing short of miraculous. Reid has expected something spicy and Italian, but Rossi has surprised him and made a tame but flavorful soup with chicken and vegetables that is nothing short of delicious. Reid consumes two bowls hungrily.

When they finish, they do not rush to get up from the table. Instead, they sit. Morgan suggests a game, and JJ pleads for anything but Charades, because of Garcia's penchant for cheating with long, impossible titles. Morgan produces an intriguing - if primitive-looking game - called Fact or Crap. Facts are Reid's specialty and he is certain he will beat everyone soundly at this. Until he learns that the nature of some of the facts. Some focus on hockey teams and some on popular culture.

Garcia somehow wins by a large margin. Then, it is time for dessert, which is just as delicious as dinner was. A frozen raspberry concoction with a graham cracker crust. Reid doesn't know where Rossi managed to find fresh raspberries out of season, but has a suspicion that he has a supply of various ingredients in his basement freezer.

Reid excuses himself abruptly, because even the most satisfying foods have a tendency to cause havoc to his sensitive digestive system. No one hovers, and when he reemerges, Emily is there, with a smile. She squeezes his shoulder, and together the two of them find a seat in Rossi's spacious living room.

"You know, you and I are probably the only people on this team who have actually thought about what will happen after we die. In a concrete sense," she offers.

He appreciates her frankness. Some people might be frightened at the prospect of discussing death, but it has become such a part of his every day life, that he brings it up continually. It has gotten so that his team can almost laugh about it when he makes a joke about how he should have had a bigger birthday celebration, because his 30 was like everyone else's 50. It's easier to deal with the inevitable thought of death if he embraces it. If he does his best to learn about it and not let it intimidate him. Discussions are a vital part of this.

"JJ told you…" he hedges, casting a furtive glare in JJ's direction. She is laughing and eating raspberry dessert.

"JJ didn't tell me anything. I can see it in your eyes," Emily tells him honestly. "You deal with this however you need to," she tells him. "And we'll be here for you. You know that."

"I don't actually know if I'd want anybody there with me at the end…maybe my mother…but other than that…I'm not sure I'd want anyone there… What about you? Were you glad Morgan was there?" he asks, referring to last March in the warehouse when she almost bled out due to a traumatic abdominal injury.

Emily considers this. "There wasn't time for me to consider what I wanted and didn't want. I just had to deal with what was. At the very end, I can tell you that I was…very afraid…and very lonely. While I couldn't speak, my thoughts were full of everything I hadn't said to the people I love. That's the biggest lesson I took from this. I don't want to live with regrets, if I can help it."

"That makes sense," he nods. "I guess, in a way, it's good to be able to really ponder what I want out of life, instead of simply existing day to day," he paused, noticing as she cocked her head. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get philosophical on you."

"Go ahead. Feel free…I just…wanted to tell show you this…" she trails off, producing a tiny folded square of paper from her pocket.

Carefully he unfolds it and recognizes what it is immediately.

"It's negative. I just…I thought it would be foolish to not know my status, especially now," Emily says, uncomfortable. Reid can see on her face that this hasn't been a spur-of-the-moment decision. It's one she has considered - not just the taking of the test - but sharing the results.

He looks her in the eye. Reid doesn't say he's glad she did it - that's her own business - but he hopes his gladness is implied. HIV is preventable. It all starts with knowing your status, positive or negative. Instead of saying all these things, Reid chooses something altogether different.

"Did you know there's a girl who was born in Las Vegas? She was born approximately three years after I was. She was born positive. Diagnosed as a toddler, and not expected to live past the age of five."

"I'm guessing she beat the odds?" Emily asks.

"She's _27_," Reid emphasizes, his own eyes shining. "Can you imagine? If the same fate was true for me, and I had 22 years attached to my life-expectancy?" Reid calculated quickly. "That would put mine at 82. Which is actually higher than the average life expectancy for a man in the United States by seven years. And higher than the overall US life-expectancy by two years."

"Sounds promising," Emily encouraged.

"Oh, it is," Reid answered, excited already by the possibilities this allowed for his future.

"What sounds promising?" Morgan asked, coming in and sitting as close to Reid as he possibly can. Morgan is followed by Hotch, Garcia, Rossi and JJ, who have been cleaning up the mess in the kitchen. Occasionally, the four of them, minus Morgan, could be heard singing Sinatra's "The Way You Look Tonight." JJ and Hotch had sung softly, with some reserve, while Garcia and Rossi sung with lighthearted abandon. Reid hadn't considered the mess and briefly feels guilty for not helping in the cleanup. However, right now, Reid has bigger problems.

He is momentarily distracted by his fortuitous calculations he glares at Morgan. "Have you ever heard of the concept of personal space?" Reid asks.

"I've heard of it-" Morgan begins, a playful glint in his eyes.

"But I don't believe in it," he and Emily chorus together. Her tone is clearly mocking, but Morgan doesn't mind. He has come with a cup of tea for her, made, Reid knows, just the way Emily takes it. It is in all these small ways that they take care of one another, and it lets Reid know that, should anything happen - to any of them - the rest will be okay because they take care of each other.

"We're discussing my life-expectancy," Reid explains. "Which _you _are shortening considerably by compromising my oxygen supply, please move your cologne-soaked body somewhere else," Reid chokes, laughing.

"Oh, man up, will you?" Morgan ribs good-naturedly. "Now, enough about you. What's the life expectancy of a totally toned man. Late thirties. Doesn't smoke. Athletic," Morgan relaxes on the couch, continuing to list his best traits.

Reid smirks. "75.6 years."

"And what's yours, did you say?" Morgan asks.

"Eighty-two," Reid says, enjoying all the possibilities his future holds. Nothing set in stone. Nothing written anywhere that indicates the end will definitely come for him at 32 or 47 or 60. The future is wide open to him. Shining as brightly as the sun. His words to JJ come back to him. He had told her he would be okay, but it might just be a little bit harder now. At the time, it felt like a lie, spoken to ease the mind of a friend. Now, he thinks, it just might be the truth.

"No shit! Are you sure?" Morgan asks and Reid catches Emily's eye as he speaks.

"I'm positive," he says, and smiles.

_The End_

* * *

><p>Author's Note: I want to thank everyone who takes the time to read this story. It is a subject very close to my heart. I had a friend who was diagnosed with HIVAIDS. The time between diagnosis and death was very short, but no life is too short to have an impact. My friend's E-mails were invaluable in the writing of this story. Below you will find other sources of information on HIV/AIDS I've read/watched/searched over the years. Many of them are somewhat dated, but the personal perspectives in each offer insight that is unparalleled.

If you would like to learn more about real people with HIV/AIDS, search:

**Pedro Zamora** (The Real World, San Francisco, 1994) - my earliest education about HIV/AIDS came from this amazing young man. Go MTV's Website to and watch his season of Real World. Be inspired.

**Hydeia Broadbent** (HIV/AIDS activist, who was born HIV-positive in 1984 and not expected to live past age 5.) Today, she is 27 and continues to inspire the world. Check out her Twitter, and her Website for more information. I'd also recommend searching her on YouTube. That, in particular really helped me determine what I wanted to focus on for each portion of this three-shot.

DVDs:

RENT - Live on Broadway (1996 musical by Jonathan Larson)

RENT the film (2005 movie adaptation of the musical)

Books:

It Happened to Nancy - by: An Anonymous Teenager

You Get Past the Tears - by: Patricia Broadbent and Hydeia Broadbent


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